


O' Canada

by kierathefangirl



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Chibitalia/HRE - Freeform, M/M, Other, gerita - Freeform, spamano - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 10:59:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7434197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kierathefangirl/pseuds/kierathefangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Canada's birthday is a few days away and he lets slip to normal people that he's Canada. Luckily for him, they believe him. All countries arrive, chaos ensues. Romano and Spain (Roma's nice!). ^_^</p>
            </blockquote>





	O' Canada

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't posted anything in a while. I got involved in the Hetalia fandom...it's complicated. But here's a Hetalia short for you. ^_^ AKA "The Peoples' Belief", or "Happy Birthday, Canada!" Title is the name of the Canadian national anthem.

“You’re....the physically embodiment of a country?” he asks, incredulous.

I nod. “Oui. I know it seems crazy, but every country has one of us. We’re technically born when the country forms—colonial days—but we don’t get a birthday until we have independency. Independence day is our birthdays. U.S.A. starts planning several days in advance, but I don’t tend to celebrate because all the other countries forget about me.”

Silence fills the stadium. I feel exposed but relieved at the same time. “The government bosses us around,” I explain softly. “So they know. But we’re not supposed to tell anyone else because no one would believe us. They’d put us in jail or in an insane asylum and the country would fall apart without us. Luckily my boss hasn’t told me to marry anyone or fight anyone without consent.”

“How can you be the physical embodiment of a _country_? Like, that’s scientifically impossible. No offense intended, but how is that possible?”

I laugh lightly. “It’s okay, none taken. None of us know. We just...exist. And we represent everything other countries see us as. It’s...it’s why I’m kinda shy and pancakes and maple syrup make me really happy. It’s also why Kuma forgets my name all the time. I keep getting mistaken for America.”

He grumbles under his breath. “Well, you’re not him, that’s for sure. He...is a boy, right?”

I shrug. “We’re kinda gender-fluid. We all have female _and_ male representations. But the one I get mistaken for is a boy, yes. Alfred F. Jones.”

He sighs. “This is difficult to get my head around. What’s your name? Like, your human name?”

“Matthew Williams, but most people call me Mattie.”

He sighs. “Common name, too. Hm. Can you prove it somehow?”

I hesitate. “I can try. But that’s the problem. How do you prove that you’re a country? If I’m sad, the country and its economy suffers. If the economy suffers, I get sick. If I’m happy, the country flourishes. I’ve seen it happen before. ...During World War Two, when soldiers were blinded and killed with tear gases...that’s why I wear glasses. My vision blurred. I could see just fine without them before.”

The man crosses his arms. “Okay. Can we catch something like that on camera, perhaps? The country being affected by your moods? That is, if you’re okay with it.”

I shrug casually. “It’s possible. The snow and trees and ice are affected physically as well.”

He picks up a camera, turning it on. “Okay, well, what makes you sad?”

I frown. “Getting mistaken for America a lot. And getting ignored, especially on my birthday.”

The trees sag around me, the snow tinting yellow and the ice cracking. His eyes widen and he adjusts his grip on the camera. “Alright, then, what makes you happy?”

“Maple syrup, pancakes, and being recognized as myself by Papa France and Scotland.”

There’s a pause as I smile at that, and the snow glows white, the ice thickens and heals, and the trees bear leaves in seconds—in the middle of winter, no less.

His phone buzzes and he checks it. “The economy just boosted five percent.”

I laugh nervously. “Because Oncle Écosse makes me really happy. He’s one of the few that’s never mistaken me for America and corrects those that do. Especially his little brother, Papa Angleterre.”

Kuma frowns at me. “Who _are_ you?”

The guy hesitates then says, “He’s Canada.”

Kuma’s widen. “Who?”

I sigh. “Don’t try. He never remembers.”

The trees sag in response. Kuma waddles away and a half-smile returns to my lips, bringing the trees back up. “I could call the other countries, if you like. Angleterre would probably be angry I told, but I know Papa France and Oncle Écosse would be more than willing to show up and all.”

“If you would,” he says, turning the camera on again.

I pick up my phone, dialing Papa France on speaker.

“Bonjour?” he answers. ( _Hello?_ )

I smile shyly. “Papa, it’s Canada.”

“Oh, happy early birthday, son!” he says excitedly. “Joyeux anniversaire, mon fils.”

I hesitate. “You think you could come down here? I, uh, I have something to tell you. In person. I don’t want Angleterre overhearing, he’d be mad at me and he’s scary when he’s mad.”

“Of course, mon fils!” he answers. “I’ll be there in a few.”

I grin. The trees glow with a vibrant energy around me, the snow gaining an angelic quality, the ice solidifying visibly. “Merci, Papa.”

“Bien sûr, Canada,” he answers softly, hanging up.

I take a deep breath and dial Scotland.

“Hello?” he answers in a thick Scottish accent.

“Oncle Écosse,” I return. “Um, puis-tu venir ici? C’est quelques jours de mon anniversaire de naissance et je voudrais parler avec toi et Papa France.” ( _Uncle Scotland? Um, can you come (over) here? It’s a few days until my birthday and I want to talk to you and Papa France._ )

There’s a pause and he says, “Bien sûr, Canada. Donne-moi une minute et je vais être là-bas.” ( _Of course, Canada. Give me a minute and I’ll be (over) there._ )

“Merci beaucoup,” I say softly. “Je suis un peu seule.” ( _Thanks a lot. I’m a little alone/lonely._ )

“D’accord,” he chuckles. “Les autre pays ne téléphone pas toi?” ( _Of course, okay. The other countries haven’t called you?_ )

I shake my head. “Non. Ils ne téléphone pas. Je pense qu’Angleterre a oublié une autre fois parce que le quatre juillet et l’anniversaire d’Alfred.” ( _No. They haven’t called. I think England forgot one more time (again) because the Fourth of July is Alfred’s birthday._ )

“Oui, je vois,” he agrees agitatedly. “Je peux parler avec lui après je parle avec toi, oui?” ( _Yes, I see. I can talk to/with him after I talk with/to you, yes?_ )

“Uh, oui,” I agree. “Juste pas à ce sujet ... il obtiendrait en colère contre moi. Il est effrayant quand il est fou.” ( _Uh, yes. Just not about this subject...he’ll get made at me. He’s scary when he’s mad._ )

There’s a pause and he asks, “Quel sujet?” ( _What subject?_ )

I hesitate. “Le sujet que je veux vous parler?” ( _The subject I want to talk to you about?_ )

He frowns, sighing. “Bien sûr, je promis que je ne vais pas parler du sujet.” ( _Of course/alright, I promise I won’t talk of the/about the subject._ )

“Merci, Oncle Écosse,” I breathe, muffling my sigh of relief. “Je préfère ne pas avoir à faire face à une Angleterre en colère.” ( _Thank you, Uncle Scotland. I’d rather not have to face an angry England._ )

“Tu es mon neveu, je ne ferais pas ça pour vous,” he assures me. “Non pas que je comprends pourquoi il serait tellement en colère.” ( _You’re my nephew, I wouldn’t do that to you. Not that I understand why he’d be so angry._ )

I smile shyly. “Je ne peux pas dire sur le téléphone. Il pourrait me surprendre et devenir fou de toute façon. Juste obtenez ici rapidement, vous comprendrez alors.” ( _I can’t say on the phone. He might overhear me and get mad anyway. Just get here quickly, you’ll understand then._ )

“D’accord,” he agrees. “Je suis en route.” ( _Okay. I’m on my way._ )

I hang up, pocketing my phone. He finally sets the camera down. “Scotland speaks French?”

“Uh, yeah,” I laugh lightly. “He’s friends with Papa France, he learned from him in case I can’t speak English. There’ve been times I was too upset to manage English.”

“I’m Will,” he introduces himself. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

I grin, heat tingling my cheeks. “Uh, merci.”

He inclines his head. I look up as two airplanes land nearby.

Papa France descends out of one, straightening when he sees the smile on my face and the curious looks all around me. He smiles back, making his way over. “Ah, I see. You told everyone. You’re lucky you got the nice country. They probably believe you, no?”

Heat floods my cheeks and I grin helplessly, hugging him. “Oui!”

He laughs, hugging me tightly back. “Félicitations, Canada.”

I let go and grin at him. “Merci.”

France glances around, noting the camera with a twinkle in his eyes. “Well, I might as well introduce myself, no?” He smiles and bows. “I am France, ze country of amour and roses and _la musique._ ”

“More like _les chansons d’amour_ , oui?” I counter with a smile.

He laughs. “Oui, oui, d’accord.”

The man with the camera asks excitedly, “Do all countries have one of...you?”

France laughs. “Not of _me_ , but a representational person like us, yes. It’s pretty interesting, no?”

“It defies the laws of science,” he says in an awed voice.

I grin. The land around me glows with vibrant energy as my heart soars. “Oui, it does, doesn’t it?”

France laughs. “Oui, it does. We don’t understand it ourselves.”

Scotland makes his way over with a smile, a dragon perched on his shoulder. “Ah, I see. Angleterre would be angry because he’s too traditional, no? He still thinks we’d get thrown in an insane asylum for showing the world we exist. D’accord. Happy birthday, Canada. Early or not.”

He winks. The dragon yawns, revealing sharp little baby teeth.

The camera shakes just a little in the man’s hands. “Hello.”

Scotland smiles. “Ah, hello. I am Scotland, Écosse, whatever you want to call me. Keeper of dragons and their magic. This is just a baby, you should see them full-grown. She’s harmless. Don’t worry about little Bella. England is the keeper of unicorns, Captain Hook, fairies, and the like. The type of things you find most in stories from our lands, no? And dark magic, too. He can summon Russia. Which is pretty cool, to be honest, but Russia’s the weirdest and scariest of world powers.”

The man smiles shyly. “A pleasure.”

Scotland inclines his head. “The pleasure is mine. I’m older than England and I still have hope we can live out in the open some day. This helps prove my point, no? You believe my little Canada, you believe France, and now me. I was right.”

I grin shyly. “Nous avons le temps pour être moins seule. Nous avons des siècles pour vivre.”

“Oui,” he agrees. “S’long as the country is remembered, we live on.”

France chuckles. “C’est magnifique, n’est pas?”

Airplanes begin to land around us. Scotland laughs. “Looks like the word spread that we’re not alone anymore, eh? Let’s see who’s here.”

All of Europe pours out of one, and Asia out of another. Then America climbs down out of the other.

I wince. England looks just as furious as I feared. “Oh no. Oncle Écosse, c’est Angleterre. Il est très fou.”

America comes running over and drops an arm around me, causing me to flinch. “Hey, guys! I got the news. America the hero at your service!”

France pushes America off of me. “Welcome, U.S.A. I never thought I’d see _you_ in Canada’s land.”

America blushes and grins. “Hey, this is a world famous news feed. I don’t feel like hiding from my own people anymore. So why the hell not?”

Taiwan comes over quietly. “Hi, I’m Taiwan.”

She repeats it in Taiwanese before moving away silently.

Everyone except England comes over to introduce themselves, leaving a smile on my face and the land around me glowing with life mid-winter.

It takes several minutes, but then Romano, Prussia, and the other passed countries show up.

Prussia grins at the camera. “Kesesesese! Hello, I am ze awesome Prussia! I also stand in for East Berlin. Germany is West. Pretty cool, eh? I’m awesome!”

Romano crosses his arms. “Ciao, idiotas. I am Romano, or South Italy. I’m friends with Spain personally, and also of course my talented little brother, my fratello Italy.”

Italy hugs him excitedly. “Roma! Lovi, Lovi, I missed you!”

Romano hugs him back, ruffling his hair. “Yes, yes, I missed you too, idiota.” Romano winks at Italy with that and Italy giggles.

Spain scoops him up in a tight hug, the biggest smile on his face. “Roma! Oh my god, Romano, I missed you so much!”

Romano hugs him back tightly, his eyes closed. “You can call me Lovi, España.”

“Lovi,” he says with the biggest damn grin I’ve ever seen on him. “I missed you so much!”

“I missed you too, Toni,” he agrees softly, eyes closed and refusing to let go.

I incline my head. “Hey, Roma. Prussia. Holy Rome and Roman Empire.”

Roman Empire grins, ruffling my hair. “Hello, Canada.”

Prussia hugs me excitedly and ruffles my hair. “Best death-day treat ever. Now we truly are free. We aren’t alone, people believe in us. Which means that just maybe, we can return.”

After a while, Italy makes his way over and hugs Holy Rome. “Holy Rome,” he says. “You made it.”

Holy Rome takes him in, eyes wide. “Italia?”

Italy grins. “Si! I missed you.”

Holy Rome hugs him, and Italy hugs him tightly back. Germany makes his way over, standing proud and tall at Italy’s side. “A pleasure. You must be Holy Rome.”

H.R.E. inclines his head, releasing Italy to straighten up to his full height. He’s just as tall as Germany, only dressed in robes and a hat. “You must be Germany. You’re the one who inherited my land.”

Germany nods. “Ja, I am.”

“You also inherited Italia,” he adds with a jealous eye. “You better treat him right.”

Germany straightens. “Of course.”

Italy blushes and grins. Rome bows to the camera. “The great Roman Empire. The pleasure is mine. Take care of my grandsons, Romano is sticking around. Spain, take good care of him.”

With that, he vanishes. Prussia goes with him.

Romano becomes more solid, reforming into a normal-looking person. He looks the same, but he’s lost the ‘Heavenly’ glow.

Spain looks surprised and delighted. “Roma, you’re staying?”

Romano nods. “Si. Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you idiotas. Besides, there’s a new set of islands Grandpa Rome found. He knew Italy and you missed me.”

Holy Roman Empire (H.R.E.) bows to the camera. “Holy Roman Empire, and Italy’s Heavenly watchful eye. Hurt Italy, I will find a way to hurt you. Otherwise, have a great life.”

With that, he disappears. Romano refuses stubbornly to let go of Spain even when France and Italy both try to pull him off. “No,” he says stubbornly.

Spain picks him up, cradling him in his arms and hugging him close. “It’s okay. I missed him, too.”

Italy sticks his tongue out at his brother. “Love-sick puppy!”

Romano actually blushes at that. “Oh, hush, Italia.”

He glances around. “By the way, if you make fun of me, I’ll still punch you. And it’s Romano Islands, if you must. You can still call me Romano, I don’t care. But only Italy and Spain can still call me Lovi.”

I can’t wipe the grin off my face, inclining my head. “Welcome back, Romano.”

Romano smiles just a little at that. “Thank you, Canada.”

I nod shyly, bowing to the camera. “Meet the world. I’m Canada, and this is my family.”

There’s silence for a few minutes as everyone stares at England. He’s still fuming silently over by the airplane, pacing back and forth.

Finally Wales, Ireland, North Ireland, and Scotland go over, in an attempt to calm him down.

“No, I will not stop,” he hisses loudly. “This goes against everything we’ve ever been taught!”

It takes several minutes of the arguing before my people start singing to drown them out, drawing my eyes. The national anthem rings out, strong and proud, and the land around begins to glow as they direct it at me, drowning out England’s shouting with their song. “ _O’ Canada, our home and native land. True patriot love in all thy son’s command! With glowing hearts, we see thee rise: the true North strong and free! From far and wide, O’ Canada, we stand on guard for thee! God, keep our land glorious and free! O’ Canada, we stand on guard for thee! O’ Canada, we stand on guard for thee!_ ”

Nothing can wipe the returning smile off my face, not even England’s continued shouting, as they drown him out by singing my own national anthem louder than him. The fear vanishes and the darkness and clouds crawl away, leaving everything with an angelic glow around it.

Scotland stumbles as England hits him and everyone grows louder, almost crying out for peace.

England pushes forward, grabbing the front of my shirt and pulling me into his face. The darkness returns and everything morphs into a horror movie scene—the trees dead and gnarled, the clouds drowning out the light, the snow brown and gold. He stays like that for several minutes before saying anything, and they keep on singing as loud as they can. “How _dare_ you risk all of us getting exposed.”

I flinch, fighting the fear. France pulls England off, him and Scotland holding him back. After hesitating, America moves between us. “England, stop. Canada saved us from a life of solitude. Let the past fears go, they all believe us. You should’ve seen how happy my people were to hear about us. Let it go.”

England stops struggling, scowling at America. “Oh, come on, America, you of all people should be on my side. I know you hate France.”

“This isn’t about France,” America says coldly. “This is about your sons. _My brother is right._ Canada is right, damn it, let it go. We’re safe, we’re okay. So let it go. Or I will _make you_ let it go.”

I straighten my coat, startled. “A-Alfred...?”

America steps back to my side. “England, you’re scaring him. Look around you. _You. Are. Causing. This._ Cut it out, damn it. You’re scaring me, and I’m not even Canada.”

England looks around and some of his anger evaporates. The crowd grows louder, ignoring when he snaps at them to shut up.

America puts an arm around me, singing along with the national anthem but letting them lead since he doesn’t really know it. All the countries follow his lead, joining in. Even Romano and Spain look up and join in. France and Scotland join in last, when England stops struggling in surprise.

I can’t help but smile at that, my eyes closing. This is the best birthday present I could have asked for. They’re all on my side. They’re singing for me. The light returns, and I open my eyes to find the glow back around us. My confidence is boosted.

The singing fades a little as I take a step forward, intending to speak. “England...”

England’s eyes snap onto me, narrowed and tense. “What?”

I flinch, narrowing my eyes. “This is my choice. Like it or not, we are known. You’re acting like a child on camera. Grow up. Do you really want people to think England is mean and old-fashioned? Or do you want them to see you as the mature, calm one who sits around drinking tea and reading newspapers? The choice is yours, Papa Angleterre. None of us can make it for you. But please, for the sake of everyone around us, stop acting like you’re two years old and remember you’re hundreds of years old. You’re supposed to be mature. _China_ agrees with me, and he’s far older than you!”

His eyes find the camera and his tension eases, the anger fading.

China nods. “You’re being immature, England. Calm down, aru?”

England sighs, falling to the ground. Scotland and France warily let go, watching him hit the ground and start crying.

America releases me, moving forward. “You used to be so great, so mature. What happened to that?”

After saying that, he keeps singing. England starts crying harder, burying his face in his hands as if to cover up the sobs shaking his shoulders.

“Elizabeth,” he spits, almost curling in on himself as he says it.

France’s eyes widen. “ _Oh_.”

“Papa?” I ask, our eyes meeting.

France shakes his head. “You remember Joan of Arc, oui? My wife. Well, did you ever hear that Queen Elizabeth—the first—was, and I quote, ‘married to her country’? That was literal. He went down the drain once she died. He’s still not used to the idea that we outlive humans.”

The singing grows quieter, just loud enough to drown out England’s sobs.

America moves over, kneeling down next to him and saying softly, “You fell in love.”

England hesitates and nods. “Yes. God help me, I did. With a human.”

America hugs him, not saying anything. England doesn’t move for several minutes, just crying onto America’s shoulder helplessly.

The song doesn’t quite fade away, but it grows quieter and flexes louder as he does, drowning out the sadness. England doesn’t seem to notice it, but I see him start to calm down as he begins to sway just a little with the song.

It takes about half an hour before England finally calms, sliding his arms around America to hug him back. America accepts the hug without complaint, whispering something in his ear. A smile blossoms on his face at that and he laughs weakly through the tears, tightening his grip and whispering something in return.

The song swells in volume as England gets up slowly, clinging to America to keep his legs from sliding out from under him. “ _God, keep our land glorious and free! O’ Canada, we stand on guard for thee!_ ”

England coughs and wipes quickly at his face, drying the tears rapidly and leaning heavily on America.

I close my eyes, listening to the song instead of England’s sounds of pain.

After a few minutes, arms slide around me and the song fades away completely.

I open my eyes in surprise to find England hugging me, whispering, “Liz always said we had to stay hidden, she ingrained the ideal in me. I’m sorry. It’s one of the last things from her I can cling to.”

I slide my arms around him, holding him up. “Are you okay?”

He shakes his head. “Dizzy. London Bridge fell _again_. They’re gonna be pissed I was gone, let alone the fact that we’re on the telly and we’re not supposed to be.”

After a few minutes, he slowly steadies himself on his own two feet, muttering, “They are _so_ pissed at me right now, I can feel it.”

He turns to the camera slowly, straightening his tux. “I’m not exactly in top form at the moment considering London Bridge fell again and that always makes me dizzy and I can feel my boss’ anger at me and the terrorists, I apologize. I am England, keeper of unicorns, fairies, mermaids, Neverland, and other magical types. My human name is Arthur Kirkland. I’d be happy to take an interview or two when I’m recovered and able to talk more, but at the moment I will just say I hope no one got hurt when the bridge fell and I must head home to check up on that. Good day to you all.”

With that, he sweeps into the plane. Most of Europe follows him, minus Romano and Spain. All of Asia disappears into their plane.

America turns to me. “Dude, England isn’t normally so emotional. Something’s going on with his country, he’s flipping from angry to crying to apologetic to dizzy.”

I raise an eyebrow. “London Bridge fell again. I’d imagine that’s the country’s reaction to it, and he’s feeling it, too. I think that’s why I’m happy even though England is going through some turmoil; my people are extremely happy right now. Also, it’s my birthday in a couple days, July First is Canada Day and it’s my birthday. I know your birthday is coming up too, happy birthday, but you celebrate every year. If you could just...wait a couple days and celebrate Canada Day first?”

America nods. “Of course. Happy birthday, Mattie.”

He hugs me tightly and heads into his plane, taking off.

All the planes are gone now, but Romano is still here clinging to Spain.

Spain comes over with the biggest smile on his face, giving me an awkward hug. “Happy birthday. And thank you. Without you, not only would we be alone, but I wouldn’t have Roma back.”

I nod, shooting him a smile. “Thank you. And of course. It gets pretty lonely over here, people keep mistaking me for America and they either beat me up or pretend I’m invisible.”

Spain rolls his eyes. “Well, that’s gonna change. Everyone knows you as the one who freed us now. And thank you for that. I’ll swing by and drop something off for your birthday if I’m not too busy. I’ll get you something.”

Romano looks up, reaching out to give me an awkward sideways hug. “Thank you. I really missed this. And not just Italy and Spain, just...being a country. Plus the fact that now we’re recognized as countries, which is pretty cool on top of that.”

I grin at him, ignoring the increased glow of life around us. “Of course.”

Spain heads off, cradling Romano in his arms.

Everyone breaks into cheers and then starts singing again, crowding around me and singing the anthem as loud and perfectly as they can. “ _O’ Canada, our home and native land. True patriot love in all thy son’s command! With glowing hearts, we see thee rise: the true North strong and free! From far and wide, O’ Canada, we stand on guard for thee! God, keep our land glorious and free! O’ Canada, we stand on guard for thee! O’ Canada, we stand on guard for thee!_ ”

I laugh lightly, accepting every hug I’m offered. It looks like this birthday won’t be so lonely.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think! I also don't know how many or few people on AO3 are Hetalians, so bear with me.


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